


Lost in Reality

by FracturedSpine



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games), The Man in the High Castle (TV)
Genre: 1960's America, COD au, Call of Duty Zombies - Freeform, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FracturedSpine/pseuds/FracturedSpine
Summary: Set at the end of Season Three of Man in the High Castle. The Germans are close to finally finding a way through to the peaceful alternate America. It seems like nothing will stop them, until one day a woman appears. To one of the Germans she was thought to be long dead and perhaps the only person he had ever loved. However, she has made it her task to make him, her husband, the man who holds the power of Nazi expansion, see reason. It does not prove to be easy, as he appears to be too loyal to the Nazi regime, ultimately forcing her to choose between the one she loves and the greater good.I will try to make sure that this regularly updated.Probably won't make sense if you haven't seen MITHC.





	1. And so it begins

“It would have been all four if you had set the machine as per my specification, Herr Mengele.”  
A voice low and dangerous, coated with a thick German accent, floated in the darkness. Smith winced at the words. He had come by that tone far too often in his line of work and no good had ever come by it. 

“Ah, General Richtofen, how good of you to join us.” The Reichsführer greeted, but John seemed oblivious, still transfixed on the smell of burning flesh at the end of the tunnel. He could hear them speaking German behind him, but he ignored them, to withdrawn in his own mind to translate their conversation. 

“Reichsmarschall.” John didn’t hear the Reichsfuhrer’s words. “Reichsmarschall!” Himmler repeated. This time with more force, enough to break John from his trance. 

“I’m sorry sir.”

“Nevermind, I understand it is a lot to take in.” Himmler turned to face the man beside him. “This is General Edward Richtofen.” 

The moment Smith laid eyes upon the General did he feel an instant disliking towards the man. Upon his lips was a sly smirk and in his eyes a coiled malice. But what struck John the most about the man was the deep scar that ran through the right of the man’s face, starting at the top of his eyebrow, cutting down to mid way down his cheek. He couldn’t help but find himself staring into the milky white eye of the General. Most war veterans wore eyepatches, to the extent that he was sure it was obligatory. So why didn’t he? Smith couldn’t help but feel unnerved by the man before him. 

“General Richtofen is the creator of this brilliant machine.” Smith watched as the man’s grin widened at the praise. It wasn’t a happy grin. He couldn’t help but feel like he was being measured and sized up by the man before him. The Reichsführer turned to the General, “and I’m sure you have heard of our new Reichsmarschall.”

Smith saw the sneer upon his lips, even if only for a brief moment and that was all it took for him to understand, he was one of the fanatics, but such a man would have to be, to even suggest the endeavour of multi-universal Nazi conquest. 

“Yes, I have heard of you, the man that saved the Führer’s life. Quite an achievement.” Whilst his voice gave a tone of admiration, his expression did not. It was one of distaste and annoyance, as if Smith was nothing more than a young private with ideas above his station. It irritated John greatly. 

“My loyalty is with the Reich.” He masked the anger in his tone, but held his gaze with the other man. 

“Good.” There was a small smile upon the General’s lips, tempting him, daring him to unmask every unloyalty, every misdeed he had ever committed. It was not a statement, but a threat and John suddenly felt exposed. 

But luckily he was saved by an unlikely source, Josef Mengele, who handed the General a clipboard, uttering in German as he did so, before returning to his post. John watched wordlessly as Edward’s smile shifted to a sneer as he thumbed through the documents.

“Josef, did you authorise this?” His voice was clipped with a restrained anger, but Mengele didn’t seem to notice.

“No, McCain did.” Upon hearing those three words, Richtofen’s scowl deepened

“And where is McCain now?”

“Most likely in Sector C.” Mengele replied. 

“Go and get him and inform his family that he won’t be coming home… ever.” John remained silent, unsure about what was taking place, but also unnerved by the sudden execution that seemed to be being orchestrated right in front of him. Richtofen turned to the Reichsführer. “These _Amerikaner_ are all idiots. They have no idea how to do basic calculations.”

The statement, earned him a laugh from Mengele and a pat on the shoulder from the Reichsführer. Smith felt awkward, aware that his nationality was suddenly dangerous. The General seemed aware of this as he watched him.

“Well, Edward. I’m sure you are a busy man.”

“Indeed he is.” Josef shouted from across the room. The three Germans laughed and John forced himself to smile. 

“We should all meet for dinner sometime.”

“Yes, that would be wonderful.” John winced at the General’s words. How they seemed to be dripping in a false kindness, as if he did not hold the emotion of compassion. It made him feel sick. 

“Auf Wiedersehen, Edward. I will have Marga send you the date.”

Smith followed the Reichsführer out of the facility. In the corner of his eye he watched as a man, American in accent was bundled into the room by two faceless thugs. He could hear him begging and crying out as they beat him to his knees. The last thing he glimpsed was the General giving a sickly smile before withdrawing his knife.


	2. Ignorance is Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Smith begins to question his beliefs and dreams of what life could have been.

John did not sleep well that night. The methodical viciousness in which the Germans were pursuing this idea of alternate universes scared him. He feared just how close they were to perfecting it. How long before millions of innocents were to be killed. 

Any yet his mind always came back to one thing. To one person.

Thomas.

He knew he was alive in this alternate reality. That his son was free from this murderous corruption. He had seen him on the tapes. 

He wondered if this Thomas was ill too. And if he was, would they kill him again? Would they slaughter him again and again to achieve their conquest?

The thought made him feel sick. 

Then the thought of General Richtofen appeared in his head. A man who had no regard for humanity. A man so blinded by his own faith towards something so destructive. In all of his adult life, John had never been so terrified of one single person. He reminded him of a time before the war, before the invasion. A time when there had been peace and no threat to his family to mankind.   
And then the horror resurfaced.

Newspaper headlines of British surrender. Headlines of invasion, defeat and the fall of the United States of America. He felt as if he was at war again. Only this time there was no enemy.

The enemy was himself. 

He had cooperated with this regime. He had surrendered wholly to them. He had killed his only son. 

And he would do it again unless he could change this. To put a stop to Nazi expansion. 

He held his head in his hands as he sat alone in his office, lit by a single lamp. His wife and children had long since gone to bed. He had remained in silence. 

And so it came as no surprise when the Reichsführer’s secretary phoned late that night. She gave him the dates for this irksome dinner and monotonously wished him well before hanging up. 

He sighed, thinking of how his life could have been different. John later regarded it as a petty moment. How one life was insignificant within the Nazi regime. They would succeed. It was inevitable. 

And it all lay in the hands of a General Edward Richtofen. 

 

Unfortunately for John, Himmler’s dinner came only two nights after the phone call. It was not a welcoming event. Wives and children were not welcome and still John had to stomach Marga’s cooking. Amongst Himmler and the General, were various other SS personnel that John did not recognise. He had decided to sit as far away from Richtofen as possible. He had come to the conclusion, not far into the evening, that he was the only American there and couldn’t help, but feel a little awkward. And then, as the evening dragged on and more expensive alcohol was consumed, they switched to their native tongue. Smith, like most American Nazis, was fluent in German, but he was aware of his worryingly strong American accent. So he kept quiet for now. Eventually they retired to the drawing room, with Himmler and the General temporarily disappearing into the Reichsführer’s office. Smith had heard what they were discussing, even if he didn’t want to. He had heard the name Reinhard to frequently in their conversation for it to just be a passing name. Smith sighed as he sat down, thumbing the rim of his whiskey glass. His mind began to wonder what could have been. He laughed inwardly at the thought of Himmler remaining a chicken farmer, but as he glanced around at the elaborate furnishings, he couldn’t help but feel some disgust. His mind told him that this was wrong. He had seen the defeat of the Nazis on those tapes, seen snippets of the so called “Nuremberg Trials”. He knew they were dead in that alternative world and that most importantly, his son was alive. The world was inverted. 

“I know how it feels to lose someone, John.” Immediately Smith flinched at Richtofen’s words. He had been too lost in his own mind to not only not notice him enter the room, but he had also been completely unaware that he had even sat down next to him. He stared at him, suddenly feeling uncomfortable again. He chose not to answer.

Richtofen continued, but did not make eye contact. Smith took this as his chance to look frantically around the room. Himmler and his wife and the other two officers were engaged in their own conversations at the other end of the room. They did not notice them.

“My wife, Clara,” Smith turned to face him. He did not know that the General had been married, let alone that she had passed away. Smith suddenly felt a little bit less uncomfortable. Perhaps it was his grief that had caused his unnerving behaviour. 

“Even after all this time I can see her. The life draining from her as I held her in my hands. I vas a Doctor, yet zhere was nothing I could do, John.”

He was suddenly aware of a painful lump at the back of his throat. 

“How… how did she die?”

“She vas killed in an American bombing raid.” 

Tension filled the room like a thick smog. He realised it now, the hatred that the General held was not directed towards him, but to America as a whole.

“And you?”

“No, I escaped unharmed. Zhis…” He trailed off, pointing to his face, his mood darkening. “Zhis vas done to me by _Americans_.” He spat the last word as if it was something truly horrendous. 

John felt truly uneasy. “I vas captured during ze invasion and tortured.” He slowly removed his black leather gloves to remove horrific burn injuries to both of his hands. “Both sides are guilty of inhuman crimes, John.” He replaced his gloves and stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “Zhey drove me to ze brink of insanity. But I continue for her. To make the world a better place for her.” He nodded, reaffirming himself. Perhaps that was how he justified it, the endless killing and his inhumane experiments. In his twisted mind he thought he was doing what was good and righteous. 

“I’m sorry.” John uttered, staring at his hands.

“I’m glad you are.” The General hissed.


	3. Dead Memories

“What exactly does General Richtofen do?” John was back at the facility. He in no way wanted to be here, instead he was under the Reichsführer’s orders. 

“Ah so you two have been speaking?” Himmler smiled, glancing behind him at the Reichsmarschall as they walked. “He was a Doctor, once, a long time ago. Now he is a Doctor of science. A weapons designer, Reichsmarschall. Arguably one of the smartest people in the Reich.”

John nodded, his gaze temporarily shifting to the floor as he took the information in. 

“He designs weaponry?”

“Almost all of the Reich’s weapons were created by his hand, the Führer used to say he won us the war. But now, some of his weapons are too dangerous, too inhumane to be mass produced. He once created a rifle that fired electricity. It could destroy twelve targets with one shot, cooking them inside out. He couldn’t seem to understand why we wouldn’t produce it.”

They walked the long corridor that John knew would take them to the heart of the facility, to the testing room, to a group of certain Nazi doctors. He could smell disinfectant, causing a wave of nausea to overcome him. He swallowed and continued walking. 

The room would be set up for them, it always was, usually with unwilling subjects strapped to the device. Only this time it was different. 

“What’s going on?” The Reichsführer called out. 

“The General wanted to try something different.” Mengele called out from one of the overlooking balconies, running down the steel stairs to greet his superior. “He calls it the ‘Pull Theorem’. The idea is to bring someone from that universe over to this one, establishing a link and creating what he calls a teleporter. It’s only an experimental theory, but if we can make the link permanent...” 

John held his breath. He knew what this meant if the General’s experiment succeeded. They all knew what it meant. At the back of his mind he prayed, prayed to whatever cruel and perverted God there was in a desperate hope of failure. 

“And where is Edward now?” Himmler asked, a tinge of frustration in his voice.

“Calculations.” Mengele smiled. 

 

When Richtofen later appeared, he paid his fellow officers no notice. They watched in silence as the great doctor began to fiddle with cables and tweak the machinery before him. He called out strict instructions to the men around him, who instantly began pushing buttons as per his specifications. The room felt tense, it always did before an experiment. In the background a countdown had begun. 

_Dreißig, neun und zwanzig, acht und zwanzig…_

As the power buildup increased, the lights above began to flicker. Smith held his breath and eyed the men around him, slowly retreating from the ominous dark tunnel at the end of the room. 

_Zwölf, elf, zehn..._

Beside him stood Himmler, a nervous grin on his lips. He watched as the General ran across the balconies, checking, reaffirming and rechecking the variables. To John, in his mounting fear, he found some beauty in his actions. He moved in a kind of waltz around the room.

John closed his eyes.

_Drei, zwei, eins, null…_

Nothing.

Nothing, but silence.

No one dared to breathe.

Quietly the scientists glanced at their colleagues in confusion. It hadn’t worked.

They counted silently in their minds, wondering how long it would take for the failure to finally be registered. 

They counted to thirty two. 

There was a flash of white light at the end of the tunnel. All of them covering their eyes. The room fell silent, waiting expectantly. They seemed to freeze in fear and wonder as the sound of footsteps echoed from the end of the tunnel. Instantly the soldier took arms and aimed at the source of the noise. In the distance a shadowy figure could be seen, a figure that was unmistakable to one of the men. He slowly began to creep forwards in order to confirm his suspicions. It was only when he saw the white fluorescent light illuminating her face did he say her name. 

“Clara?” He couldn’t repress the smile that formed upon his lips. For the young American soldiers that surrounded him, it was the first time they had seen the General smile. A true smile of pure happiness. In return the girl smiled, one too that shared the same blissful joy. 

He had thought of these parallel universes and that in one his Clara may still be alive. He had pondered upon it for hours, dreaming of what he would say if he was to find her. He had never expected her to come to him. He could feel a warm wetness running down his cheeks. He wanted to run to her, but yet a voice tinged with an American accent called out to him, reminding him just who he was.

“Be careful sir, it’s not safe.” Upon the words of the Unteroffizier, the soldiers crept closer. Their target firmly sighted down their ironsights. Richtofen waved his hands, dismissing the officer’s words, but yet the men kept their aim.

“Don’t be silly, Edward. Your wife is dead.” If looks could kill, then the Reichsführer would have been dead ten times over. Edward glared in such a hatred that Himmler was sure no man was capable of. He felt his eye contact waver with the General and instead fiddled with his collar as his gaze averted to the floor. 

As Clara drew closer, Edward dropped to his knees, his arms out forward, begging for her embrace. She felt his arms wrap around her waist as he buried his head into her chest.

“Meine Geliebte.” The words were muffled by the clothing of her fabric. He pulled her in tighter, worried that she would simply float away. “Mein Geliebte.” 

She looked down at the man so desperately clinging to her, gently brushing the side of his face with her finger tips. He looked up at her, his eyes full of tears. “Du bist zu mir zurückgekehrt.” She gave a weak smile at his words.

 

She had spent the following hours in what could only be described as an interrogation room. They had at first tried to bind her hands, but Edward had persisted against the Reichsführer’s wishes and so she walked free. But she didn’t feel _free_. She was surrounded by armed men, who looked no more than boys playing dress-up. They were naive and loyal, they knew no different, they did not know what they were doing. Eventually the soldiers left and she was alone with _him_. She did not want to say his name as it belonged to another; _her_ Edward and she did not want to taint his name. But as she stared at his scarred face, she couldn't help but feel mounting panic. 

There was something wrong with him, something really wrong. 

She could see it in his eyes, a kind of madness.

She did not know who had instilled it in him, whether it had been there from the beginning or this regime of terror had broken him, but it was there all the same. 

For a moment they simply stared at each other in silence. She waited for him to speak.

“I have missed you so much.” He sighed, biting his lip. “I can’t believe you came to me.”

She felt torn by his emotions. Before her was a Nazi General, a warmonger, a butcher, a man who reeked of evil. Yet here he was, stood sheepishly in front of her, trying his hardest not to cry. It broke her heart. 

“Edward…” She gave a reassuring smile. _His_ name felt wrong on her tongue, she tried her hardest to ignore it. “I came here for a purpose, a reason..” She rested her hands on the table and watched as Edward took the seat opposite her. He nodded and gestured for her to continue. “I wanted to talk to you about that.” She pointed to his blood red armband and the swastika it so proudly displayed. He opened his mouth to speak, but Clara continued.

“You see Edward, you are important. Very important. I need you to come with me.” He looked at her in disbelief, of shock that she would ask him this. He could not leave, not when he was so close. In fact, he wanted the entire opposite of her demands. He wanted her to stay. He had waited so long, he had suffered so much. No she would have to stay with him. 

“No.” He simply replied. Clara has expected as much and so she continued her explanation. 

“I know you are aware of these alternate worlds. Well, in each and every one of them, you appear to be central in its outcome.” 

He watched her, trying to find an ulterior motive with her explanation. In fact, with the few minutes he had been alone with her, she seemed timid. He had put it down to some side effects of inter-dimensional teleportation, but now he wasn’t sure. Upon meeting her for the first time, his reaction had been one of pure happiness, but yet her’s seemed to be one of sadness and confusion. 

“Am I dead in your world?” Edward inquired. It would soon feel like an interrogation.

“My Edward died from heart failure.” She became increasingly aware that the only reason this Edward was alive was because he didn’t have a heart. 

“How long?” He stared at her, his face devoid of emotion. She shifted uncomfortably. 

“Two months.” Clara answered truthfully.

“And am I to replace him?”

His words were so honest that they hurt her. She did not like this path in which they were going down, eventually they would reach the reason for her visit, her true intentions and then he would have to decide. It wasn’t going well. 

“No.” She broke her gaze and looked at her hands. 

“Then why did you come here?” His tone sounded defensive. He watched as she pulled at the sleeves of her shirt. He glared at her, but she still would not meet his gaze, his felt like he was scolding a child. She would speak without looking at him, she would never know his first reaction. 

“You hurt people. I cannot live when I know that this… that you… my husband… is out there murdering people.” She fell silent, steeling herself for a violent outburst. 

“Are you one of them?” His tone was oddly calm, she looked up at him. He wore a scowl across his face. 

She did not answer. Instead she bit her lip and turned away from him. She knew what he meant, what it meant - resistance. 

“Are you one of them!?” He shouted, ramming his fist against the table. She flinched and then she felt him ease, covering his face in his hands.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Edward confessed. This was it, Clara thought, when he would have to choose a side. 

“I am.” Clara said proudly, holding her head high. “Edward and I used to make the films.” 

She watched as he lowered his hands, his expression unreadable, tinged slightly with insanity. For a moment she feared he would lash out at her, but instead the hatred was aimed at himself, aimed at his alternate self. He looked as if he might cry again. Clara swallowed, aware of how painful it was as she too choked back tears.

“Why?” Edward asked. Despite it being such a simple question, its answer was far too complex. She wanted to show him, to take his hand and show him this alternate world, to open his eyes, to prove to him that his world was wrong. 

He stood up and left the room, the door slamming and locking behind him.

All she wanted was a chance.


	4. Love through Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up gamers?!  
> Unfortunately I fractured my spine in a car crash over a week ago, hence why this chapter is late. I am also on some very strong pain killers, so I'm sorry if it just suddenly goes real weird or whatever. I also haven't played Alpha Omega yet and boi am I pissed.

Juliana Crane had been alone in her cell for some days now. She had expected that they had given up on her as they dreamt up new and horrifying ideas on how to extract the non-existent information from her brain. What she hadn’t expected was the barrage of high ranking officers that entered her cell one day. Immediately she feared that they had done it, either broken one of the fellow resistance crew or finally conquered inter-dimensional teleportation. She spied the Reichsmarschall in the corner of her eye followed by that wretched General. She stayed silent. There wasn’t much she could do with her hands bound in front of her. She held her ground as said General approached her. He was taller than her by a great deal and she could feel his gaze bearing down on her. He held a look of anger that none of the other men held which confused her. Perhaps things were not going well for the Nazis.

“Tell me who creates the films.” The General snapped, his tone harsh and rough, but Juliana felt no fear, instead she felt confusion. 

“You know the answer to that.” She looked up at him trying to decipher if this was a test, or a psychological game. 

“Who?” The General scowled. Juliana glanced at the Reichsmarschall. He had not moved from the corner of the room. He had his arms crossed. 

“Hawthorne.” She looked at the General as if he was insane, something that was truly quite possible. Hawthorne Abendsen was in the next cell, they knew this, she knew this, the General would definitely know this, but yet his question seemed sincere. 

“No. Who else?” The General continued. 

“There is no one else.” Juliana’s brow furrowed.

“Not a ‘Clara’?” He inquired. 

“N-no.” She stammered. At the back of her mind the name was familiar, but she could not pinpoint it. She began to panic, what if they had caught this person, what if she had talked?

“No one your sister Trudy may have mentioned?”

“There is no one else!” Juliana shouted, watching carefully for the Nazi’s reactions. She didn’t understand what was going on and she didn’t like it. 

“So if I was to show you this Clara, you would not recognise her?”

“No.”

“What about an ‘Edward’?”

And then she remembered. She realised, she understood. She had met them once at a bar in San Francisco with Trudy. They had not spoken much, just handed her sister a small package of tapes, had a drink and left, but in that memory she recognised them, him. 

“Oh my God you’re…” Juliana was speechless, she found it ironic that this Nazi General’s alternate self was a resistance fighter. 

“You didn’t think for one minute to tell me that my wife-”

As soon as he said the word, she flinched. 

“-She’s not your wife! You’re sick if you think she even wants to be anywhere near you.”

“She is MY wife!” The General shouted, stalking closer. 

“She does not belong to you, she loves another.” Juliana protested, trying to make the man see reason, but instead she watched as he seemed to become more unhinged. 

“I have bled for her,” he hissed, grabbing her throat and shoving her against the wall. Her head and shoulders colliding painfully with the concrete. She winced in pain.“I have been tortured for her. She will stay by my side or I will make her.”

“You’re insane.” Juliana choked and he released her from his grip, but his stance was in no way less deadly. 

“She is all I have from this world to the next. Don’t you see how menial, how pointless existence would be without her?” The General threatened. She knew what it meant, if he could not have the one he loved, no one could, no one could enjoy the luxury of living and she hated it. 

He turned to leave the room, but not before giving orders to one of his fellow officers.

“I want you to nail her hands to the wall, understood?” His voice was low and morbid, but the officer did not wince at his request. It would be done, she knew it. She looked at John, begging for help. 

His expression remained stoic. 

 

The Führer had made it clear about what was to happen to any captured members of resistance and for Clara it was no exception. Edward shivered as he read his orders that the Reichsführer had given him personally.

“I thought you might like to do the honours.” Himmler had smiled, leaving the General pale and nauseous. It was nothing new, he had insisted. He had done this procedure many times before. But he had never done it one someone he loved.

He thought about refusing, but he knew they’d find someone else. And so he re-entered her cell, shaking. He stood there silently for a few moments and she nodded understanding what they had asked him to do. 

She had thought as much. 

He had asked her to co-operate so that she would come to no harm.

But she had refused. She watched as he began to tremble and a look of fear flitted across his face. He looked like a frightened child. Instead she once again asked him to return with her.

He looked horrified.

Edward sank to his knees, his head in his hands as he leant against the cell wall.

“They will make me hurt you.” He uttered largely to himself.

“You don’t have to do this, Edward. Leave with me.” Clara protested. He glared at her.

“I am not a traitor.” He hissed, then his expression changed. “Why did you come here?!” He said despairingly. 

“I care about you.”

He gave her a look of disgust and got to his feet. He slowly began to walk closer.

“You do not care! If you cared you would stay!”

“I care about you and your health, what this place is doing to you.”

“You did this to me!” Edward cried, running his hand over his scared face. “I am a replacement! You do not care! Where were you?! Where were you?!” He gripped her hands that were bound in cuffs. She tried to shift away, frightened by his rage. “Where were you when they tortured me? Where were you when I was unconscious in a pool of my own blood? Where were you when they drove me to insanity?”

He lurched at her, grabbing her arms and squeezing so tightly she was sure it would leave bruises. 

‘Edward, stop. Think about what you are doing.” 

He let go of her, nodding. He ran his hands down his face and began pacing back and forwards in the small cell, a thousand thoughts running through his mind. Part of him just wanted to grab his pistol and hold the cool metal barrel against his temple. But no, he was here now, she was here. This is what he had been aiming for for decades.

“I…” He walked out of the cell. Clara froze, unsure what that meant for her, what it meant about him. 

He was gone for about ten minutes. 

In her mind she imagined him contesting his superiors by denying his orders. She wondered what would happen to him. She knew they needed him, would they hurt her instead so they could get to him?

 

When he returned, she gasped in a mix of worry and fear. 

He looked as if he had just had a breakdown. 

His face was stained red with tears, but on his lips was a smile that contrasted horridly. She wondered what they had said to him, what they had threatened him with in order to break him. 

“Why did you do this to me?” The first thing she noticed was the knife in his hand. She gingerly met his gaze. What she saw made her blood run cold. Insanity, a look of pure insanity. There was no ration, no reason. “Why did you do this to me?” She could see tears in his eyes. His hand holding the knife trembling. 

“You don’t need to do this, Edward.” He laughed at her words, a laugh that made her recoil away from him. He shook his head.

“You had a choice. You chose this!” He grasped the knife tightly with both hands, staring intently at the blade, an unhinged smile upon his lips. “Mein Geliebte. Mein Geliebte.” He seemed to straighten himself, swallowing his tears. “I will ask you again to join me by my side.” 

She shook her head

“Why? Why won’t you love me?”

“Edward, can’t you see what you are doing? The death and destruction you are bringing? You are a murderer, warmonger and torturer.”

“I am creating peace! There will be no more wars!”

“There will be no more freedom!”

She could see him breathing deeply, steeling himself in order to follow his orders. This is what she had been afraid of, that this Edward was too far gone, too blinded by his loyalties to the regime to be saved. She would have to act quickly.

“Edward, you don’t have to do this.” He looked up at her, swallowing. His hands were no longer shaking. “Come with me.”

He shook his head, watching the floor as he walked towards her. He couldn’t look her in the eye. 

“We had a child. Edward and I. You chose his name.”

“Ludwig?” He mouthed. 

Clara nodded. 

He thought back to a time before the war, to a time when he was young. He thought of the time when he and Clara had stayed up one summer's night talking about their future together, and when it came to it, names for a future child. 

They had decided upon Sophia, after Clara’s grandmother, for a girl and Ludwig for a boy. 

“He needs his father, Edward.” The metal of her cuffs clinked as she held out her hands. 

He lowered his knife. 

“How old is he?” He asked.

“Ten.” Clara replied. 

He looked up at her again and he saw the young girl he had married all those years ago. He saw the first time they met, he saw their wedding day. He saw they day they bought an apartment together and finally settled down. He forgot about that fateful day and he forgot about her funeral, he forgot about the grief and anguish her passing had caused him.

He held out his hand.

Their fingertips touched gently as they crawled towards the centre of the other’s palm. Even through his black leather gloves he could feel the tenderness of gesture. It felt calm and kind and most importantly genuine. 

He blinked.

 

They had appeared in a national park. Surrounding them were ancient trees and the sounds of birds. There were no man made structures for miles. Edward fell to his knees, his head in his hands, terrified about what he had just done. He began to sob. Clara sat down next to him and hugged him. It would take time and love. Love being something that Edward seemed to have received very little of. She would heal his wounds, even if he himself didn’t know they were there.


End file.
